


Bloodrush

by rainbowsneakers



Category: Waterparks (Band)
Genre: Awsten is a Serial Killer, Geoff finds this Attractive in a Bad Way, Jawn is Oblivious, M/M, Other, Otto.... is Otto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-03-27 08:22:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13876965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowsneakers/pseuds/rainbowsneakers
Summary: Awsten Knight is a serial killer. Well, he likes to think of himself as more like Deadpool, but without the voices. Others? Others think he's a monster.





	1. First Blood

There's so much blood. His first logical thought, the aluminum baseball bat coated in life-red, is that there's /just. so. much/. For a moment, his stomach turns. He's tempted to kneel, to close the eyes of the newly dead, but a voice in the back of his mind stops him. Coated fingers run through pastel-blue hair, leaving streaks of crimson. The bat is swung over his shoulders, arms draped over barrel and handle as he strides away. Shaking steps first. Sneakers leave bloody footprints, and slowly his gait calms. He's a shadow, after all, and shadows destroy light. There was too much of it in such an awful person.... The stomach-turning feelings burn lower, slower. A fire begins in his core. 

There's no one home when he gets back, scaling the siding in the dark with only a crescent moon to light his way. That's how he decides he likes it. He flops onto his bed after climbing through the window, stretched out on his back. His muscles ache, unused to so much labor and the strength it truly takes to kill.... and that fire is still there. His blood pools south of center, and in moments he's fumbling with his jeans, pushing the fabric of both denim and boxers away and taking himself in hand, stroking almost too slowly. That really shouldn't have turned him on.... but fuck, it really did.

This isn't the first time he's been out past the rise of the moon, not the first path of blood sneaker-prints on concrete. He makes sure to wipe them down once he hits grass. Can't leave a trace, you see. It's his first kill, though, the stress of Double Dare weighing heavy on thin shoulders. Before this? Before, he was innocent. Simply scaring his marks, or leaving them with a physical reminder of whatever atrocity they'd committed. Not that he wasn't one, himself.... an atrocity, that is.

He's shaken back to himself by the splash of warmth on his lower stomach, and he grabs a nearby pair of boxers to clean up with. The bat leans on his bedroom wall, cleansed of red by the sprinklers timed to go off in his yard. Sated and lazy, Awsten Knight rolls over in his bed and drifts off to sleep.

Who knows what tomorrow holds?


	2. Second Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awsten wakes on tour and reflects on his life to this point.

When he wakes again or, at least, recalls waking next, he's on a moving bandwagon. Above him is Otto, his drummer and close friend. Top and across the aisle is Geoff, guitarist and best friend. Across on his level is Jawn, their photographer. Where.... _right_. They're on tour.

The bandwagon rumbles along, and out the window, the sun begins to rise as they speed through Texas. They're on the way to Dallas if he remembers right; he usually remembers right. He frowns at the soft sound of guitar strumming above him before remembering that Otto had fallen asleep to some Harry Potter parody; he's probably trying to learn that. God, he's got talented bandmates.... and then there's him. Traces of blood still tinge his blue hair, and he stumbles out of his bunk, running shaky hands through the dyed locks.

Coffee being made wakes him slightly, and he smiles gratefully at their tour manager. ~~The man's name escapes him at this early hour.~~ He gently accepts the mug given to him, the warmth soothing him. As he sips, he reflects.

* * *

At sixteen, he took his first job. It wasn't a kill, he didn't kill till recently, but it was a job, a maiming that left him with a thirst for more and a rush of blood in his entire body.

He vaguely toys with the idea of calling a song Bloodrush. The thought is brushed away as quickly as it happens. Not now.

Sixteen turned to seventeen as quickly as it turned to twenty. Four years of jobs, dozens of people ruined emotionally, physically.

And then.... oh, /then/ came his first kill. Twenty-four years old, blue-haired, and stressed, he remembers taking the aluminum baseball bat to someone's skull. That bat had been with him since he was twelve, and now that its meaning and use were twisted, he was sure to keep it with him at all times. It lay under the couch's cabinet right now, waiting for the next job to stain it again with red and grey and white, splashed and messy under a streetlight before sunrise. The Converse saved specifically for jobs rest at the end of his bunk, soles a vaguely red tint from years of blood and brick dust.

His phone rings.

Another job.


	3. Third Life

Awsten sleeps fitfully that night, rest fraught with dreams of what he could be - no, not could. What he SHOULD be.

* * *

 

He sees a lion cub, paws and muzzle stained in red and rust, and knows somehow that this, this creature made solely to hunt, is just like him.

Afraid.

Doing what it must to survive.

Hungry.

It turns, and sits at his feet. His blood-soaked Converse match the red of the cub's paws. He kneels and strokes the slightly-sticky fur of the little one's chin.

"I know." He whispers as his vision fades. "I know how hard it is to kill."

* * *

 

A lazy green eye opens first, then its mismatched blue partner. He's soaked in sweat from the show not two hours ago, and vague chatter floats from the lounge. Geoff and Otto are awake, talking quietly over what sounds suspiciously like the Spongebob musical's soundtrack. Jawn got addicted to the music a week ago, and now it's never not on in the bus.

He slips from his bunk, rubbing bleary eyes as his thin frame curls itself just to one side of Geoff, instantly resting his head on his friend's shoulder. He barely feels the kiss pressed to his hair as he drifts off once more.

His dreams are black.


	4. Fourth Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> //I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME FOREVER//
> 
> Awsten doesn't regret much.... not when it comes to kills.

There is always something wrong with him, but volume speaks volumes of the problem of the day. Soft-spoken is fear, the inner insecurity that lowers the mid-tone Southern accent to nothing but a whisper, a mumbled word from a tongue too thick for a small mouth. The sounds never work as language, but that's okay with him.

Loud and strong is depression, a false sense of happiness that leaves everyone around the mixed-eyed man laughing and smiling, often with the sense of something wrong with this ethereal man, standing five-foot-eleven but looking so small and younger than his 26 years. It's a sense easy to brush off, and the crowds leave with only the memory of a smile that never goes past chapped lips.

Even away from the crowds, his fear takes over.... until it's time for the job to begin.

* * *

Were this a movie scene, as it looks now, there’d be terrifying high pitched strings, warning of the dangerous monster ahead. A guitar would pick up, low and gritty and growling. Blood splatters soak into concrete walls, and in the middle of it all a body, a slim frame standing watch, with an eerie smile and slowly-fading purple hair in front of bright eyes.

Well, the scene’s the same, but there’s no music, only low chuckling, the soft snick of a pocketknife being slid back into its housing, and one set of lungs breathing softly. Blood paints pale skin as he fetches a jacket, soft and dark fabric sliding effortlessly through his hands because of how worn the article is.

Awsten looks up, smirking with glittering eyes as he ties the jacket’s sleeves around his waist, pockets his knife, and leaves the scene.

* * *

Of course, the job is over all too quickly, and the "psychopath" in Awsten's mentality fades once more. Now, he can focus less. His vision is hazy, and what it lands on first is Otto.

His best friend. His drummer. One of the men he's loved since the moment they met.

 

Damn, he hates being bi. He hates being poly. He hates loving his band.

 


End file.
